


and all I ask

by dovahstar (orphan_account)



Series: The Misadventures of Deadpool and Spider-Man [1]
Category: Marvel
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 09:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/dovahstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s their first time having sex.</p>
<p>And really, it shouldn't be awkward, what with Wade being an estimated nine-ish years older than him, but it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and all I ask

It’s their first time having sex.

And really, it shouldn’t be awkward, what with Wade being an estimated nine-ish years older than him, but it is.  
Because Wade’s touching him like he’ll break, like he’ll bruise. Yes, he will bruise. He wants Wade to press them into his skin, so deep he can feel them at the bone, feel them next week when Wade returns from his mission (damn S.H.I.E.L.D. and the helicarrier they flew in on), but Wade keeps on running his fingers along his skin, touch feather-light and it’s driving Peter mad.

Okay, so it’s their first time having sex, but it’s also Peter’s first time having sex. He’d gotten to first base in the seventh grade with a girl named Kate, and boy, had that been weird. They’d sat there for a whole two minutes with Peter’s hand on her boob and the next day she told all her friends that Peter Parker was a boob honker. 

Whatever that was supposed to mean.

Anyway, they’re lying on Peter’s bed with the bass of the neighbor’s stereo pumping pop rock through the walls. The rooms illuminated in the yellow of street lamps and city lights and it’s enough for Peter to make out Wade’s face in the near-darkness of the room. Wade’s hips are pressed to Peter’s, frozen, because they’ve never gone this far before. 

Peter Parker is nineteen. He’s been living in his apartment for one year. His Dads call every Monday. On weekdays he goes to school and when need be he’s Spider-Man. Wade Wilson is his boyfriend. They’re going to have sex.

“I think we should have sex,” Peter says.

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Wade replies and he’s pressing hot open-mouthed kisses along the base of his neck and nipping his jaw. Peter’s head falls back to give Wade more access. He runs a hand up and down Wade’s forearm, squeezing when Wade bites the spot behind his ear that makes his toes curl with the intimacy of the act.

They’re still mostly clothed, Peter from the waist down. Wade’s only wearing a T-Shirt and Peter’s briefs—which are too tight on you Wade! Buy your own clothes—but they loose those quickly. 

Peter moans at the first press of skin against skin, the rough ridges of Wade’s pressing against his chest and pelvis. It had been bad and Peter hadn’t expected it. He had told himself that whatever was under Deadpool’s suit wouldn’t be as horrible as Wade made it out to be, but it was worse. And yet, Peter still found him beautiful. The first time they kissed, actual mouth-to-mouth, Peter had placed a hand against Wade’s partially concealed cheek and ripped the mask away. It had been day time and Wade couldn’t hide anything. So instead, Wade stood still and let Peter’s eyes roam the contours of his scarred skin. Peter had been—well he hadn’t been anything. He’d just stared. And stared, and stared, and stared. Until Wade left and Peter was still staring. They didn’t talk for a week after that, and when Wade finally did return, Peter tore the mask from him again, then slowly took the weapons and the suit away too until Wade was standing nude in front of him. It had been the first consummation of their relationship, the absolute trust. 

This is the second.

They kiss for what seems like hours, Wade’s body on top of Peter’s, protecting, loving. Wade’s hands spin delicate nonsense patters on Peter’s back, thighs, stomach, skirting teasingly across his aching cock. It’s slow, infuriating even. 

Peter takes Wade’s hands in his own and presses them to his hips, applying pressure even when Wade tries to pull away. It aches sweetly. 

“I’m yours,” Peter says, “It’s okay.”

“I—”

“Hold me.”

Wade does.

**Author's Note:**

> Somewhat drabble-ish. I'm going to say it's part of a series because there will probably be more.


End file.
